


Harry Potter and the Muggle Miscommunication

by Astardanced77



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bored Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is an Expert in Muggle Things, Ex-Auror Harry Potter, H/D Career Fair 2017, Harry Potter Thinks Draco Malfoy is Up to Something, Head of Department Harry Potter, Humor, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Terrible Ministry of Magic Committee Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-08 13:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12255798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astardanced77/pseuds/Astardanced77
Summary: Harry is transferred to the Pest Advisory Board. What happens next will astound you!





	Harry Potter and the Muggle Miscommunication

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt [#5](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1LiaSm8GWFLsDD8KUOZmlTSHmhIMyFZzdqYNfB-25Khk/edit). 
> 
> With thanks to S for reading and encouraging, and to the fantastic mods for being extremely understanding about my inability to meet deadlines.
> 
> Dear prompter, Thank you do much for your prompt, it was perfect! I hope you enjoy the story.

**Prologue**

“Auror Potter,” Proudfoot paused. “Harry. Take a seat.”

Harry relaxed from his stance at attention and dropped into the offered seat.

“How are you pulling up, Harry? Not too sore after yesterday’s chase?”

“No, sir,” Harry replied.

“No, of course not. Just a stroll for you, I’m sure. Straight through the markets of Diagon Alley. It’s a credit to you more people weren’t harmed.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, sitting fractionally straighter in his chair.

“And plenty of excellent coverage in the Daily Prophet today I see.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Harry, who had seen nothing of the sort, since he routinely destroyed any copies of the paper which came within his reach.

“Well, I want you to know that we’ve been paying attention. Your work has been exceptional, Harry. Simply exceptional.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, starting to wonder where this ‘little chat’ was going.

“Yes, exceptional,” repeated Proudfoot, nodding his head. Several of his chins wobbled portentously. “And in recognition of that work, we would like to offer you a promotion. Deputy Head of the Office-“.

He paused. Harry waited.

“-of the Pest Advisory Board,” Proudfoot mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?” said Harry.

“Deputy Head of the Office of the Pest Advisory Board.”

“Why?” asked Harry involuntarily.

“It’s what you’ve always wanted. It says so here on your personnel form.” He picked up a tattered piece of parchment.

“Is that my entry form to the Auror program?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Yes. And it clearly says that one day you’d like to be Head of the Office.”

“Of the Auror office,” protested Harry.

“Every position is a learning opportunity Harry. A chance to connect to the wider Ministry community. Think of it as a way to hone your office administration skills. Plenty of paperwork for the Head of the Auror Office,” he added jovially.  

Harry sat silent for a minute.

“While I’m grateful for the opportunity, sir,” he began, carefully, “I’d really prefer to stay with my team. There is a great deal of work still to be done.”

Proudfoot frowned. “Do I understand that you are turning down a promotion, Potter?”

“Surely, there’s somewhere in the Auror Office that I could go,” said Harry. “I don’t think my skill set matches the Pest Advisory Board.”

“Well, it’s not up to me Potter. If you want to protest the promotion, you’d need to talk to Head Auror Robards.”

“Thank you, sir. I will.” Harry moved to stand.

“No need to go anywhere, Potter. Robards was planning to come done offer his congratulations personally.” There was a knock at the door. “Ahh, and here he is.”

The door opened to show the perfectly coiffed salt and pepper head of Gawain Robards.

“Harry,” he boomed, “Good to see you m’boy.”

“Good to see you too, sir,” said Harry, shaking the hand thrust towards him.

“Well, here’s a feather in your cap, and no denying it,” said Robards, casually taking Proudfoot’s chair, leaving him to lean awkwardly against the cabinet behind him. “Deputy Head at your age. I’d better watch out, hey, Proudfoot!”

Harry smiled politely at the sally. He leaned forward.

“The thing is, sir, I don’t really want to move to the Pest Advisory Board. I’m very happy here in the Aurors.”

“I’m sure you are, Harry. One of our most outstanding performers. Your arrest record is more than twice that of the rest of the team. Good relationships with the community too. And of course, very high media profile after that business with You-Know-Who.”

Harry grimaced.

“But the thing is, Harry, that you do tend to stand out a bit.”

“Stand out, sir?”

“Yes, stand out.”

“You make the rest of us look bad,” interjected Proudfoot.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“The other team members can’t keep up. Some of them have-“

“-lives-“ muttered Proudfoot.

“Families,” continued Robards. “They can’t put in the extra hours that you do and they are rather being overshadowed. It’s a team game, being an Auror, you see.”

“No I in team,” added Proudfoot helpfully.

 _Versay whinging again_ , thought Harry, narrowing his eyes. “Really sir –” he started.

“I know this opportunity is unexpected, but I’m sure that once you’ve slept on it you’ll see it as an important step in your career progression.

Harry sighed. “I can’t say no, can I?”

“No,” said Proudfoot.

“And why would you want to?” added Robards jovially. “You’ll have a senior position, your own office, possibly a secretary, don’t know how they do things over there and of course a hefty increase in salary. What more could a young man want to build his career?”

“Indeed,” said Harry, eyes glinting as he grasped at one last hope. “Of course, we’ll have to break it to the team. We are in the middle of quite a sensitive case at the moment. You might find it difficult to replace me. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of trouble with the investigation. I’ll just go and let them know and we’ll see what they say.”

He strode over to the door, pulled it open and stopped dead. The entire team was grinning at him from underneath a large multi-coloured “Good Luck Harry” sign. Nicolas Versay’s grin was wide and a tad malicious.

“Bugger,” said Harry.

 

**4 months later…**

“I’ve been had,” complained Harry, banging his head against the dining room table.

“So you’ve said,” said Hermione, unsympathetically clearing the dishes from around him.

“You don’t understand,” said Harry, looking up at her. “It’s unbearable. I honestly think I might die from boredom. Do you know how many owls we get each week requesting information on the best way to get rid of a Doxy infestation? I do. An average of 4.1 a week, rising to 6.7 in winter because that’s their breeding season. This is information I was given at the _two_ _hour_ meeting I was forced to attend yesterday.” He looked back down at the table. “There weren’t even any good biscuits,” he muttered.

“What’s the answer?” asked Ron, bringing the scent of hot apple pie with him. “I need to give the lounge room curtains a good going over. I caught Hugo trying to eat something that looked a lot like Doxy eggs the other day.”

“Knockback Jinx on the eggs should do it, but you’ll need Doxycide for the queen when you find her,” said Harry, feeling a trifle more reconciled to his lot when Ron handed him a bowl of homemade apple pie and heavy whipped cream.

“Cheers,” said Ron, passing another bowl to Hermione.

“If you really hate it, why don’t you go to Fotherington?” asked Hermione.

“I did,” said Harry thickly, through a mouthful of pie. He swallowed. “He talked a whole lot of waffle about ending Ministry silos, and cross collaboration between units and working towards One Ministry.” He took another bite. “I miss Kingsley.”

“Well, if all else fails he’ll be back from leave in two months and you can complain to him then.”

“Hmmph,” grumped Harry.

“Come on, mate,” said Ron bracingly. “It can’t be that bad. At least you don’t get vomited all over on a regular basis! Hugo got me straight down the back yesterday.”

Harry laughed. “No, far fewer bodily fluids than child raising,” he agreed.

“Think of it as an opportunity, Harry,” said Hermione.

“Et tu, Hermione?” said Harry, making stabbing motions towards his chest dramatically.

“Julius Caesar,” said Hermione to Ron, who was looking puzzled.

“I don’t mean career-wise, though you should make the most of it.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I mean outside of work. If you are bored, find yourself a hobby. Your entire life doesn’t need to revolve around the office.”

“Pot, kettle,” muttered Ron, then winced as Hermione kicked him under the table.

“Go out and try something new. Join a local Quidditch team, take up gardening, try pottery for all I care. Just get out and do something new. You might even meet someone.”

“Hmm,” said Harry, sensing a dangerous trend to the conversation. “Great crust on this pie, Ron. Really crunchy.”

“Yeah, I used extra cold butter this time. I think it makes the pastry more flaky. You know, I think Rose might be ready to try pastry. Her biscuits are pretty good now and I think she needs more of a challenge.”

Harry smiled gratefully as his best friend led the conversation away from the danger zone.

Later, in the quiet of his empty house he admitted to himself the inevitable. Hermione was right. Again.

                                                                                       **********                  

In his four months in the Pest Sub-Division, Harry had learned that mornings followed a reasonably predictable routine. Agatha Wilkinson, the Office’s oldest member and resident Chizpurfle expert, was usually first in, stoking the Floo fire, opening the owl hatches and muttering about the general unreliability of the youth today. Mervyn Milwater – only slight younger than Agatha but enough to ensure he knew his place – came in next, full of the latest news gained from the morning WWN news bulletin. It was rarely uplifting. The rest of the team, a heterogeneous bunch from kids just out of Hogwarts to middle-aged witches looking for part-time work while their own kids were at school, staggered in over the course of the next hour. To Harry, much to his shame, most members of his team were various shades of beige in the office environment, yet to make a solid mark on his attention. Except Bertha.

Bertha Fawley, Harry often thought, must have been the world’s most embarrassing grandmother. Despite being a pure-blood witch on both sides of her family for generations, so Mervyn informed Harry confidentially, she gleefully embraced Muggle fashion and appeared in the office in various skin tight lycra ensembles of truly eye-popping hue. Her hair must have naturally been grey, but Harry had certainly never seen it that colour, Bertha preferring to match her coiffure to her outfit. Her culinary creations were as eclectic as her clothing and had Harry not spent significant time with Hermione while she was pregnant with Rose he thought he could have been put off cake for life. But Harry was made of sterner stuff and had even managed a bite of the upside down pineapple and pickle cake. It was an experience he didn’t think he would soon forget.

Tuesdays were morning tea days. So far, so were Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. [Never Thursdays, which was a mystery Harry was yet to solve.] But Tuesday was Bertha’s morning tea day. Preparations were in full flow when Harry emerged from his office mid-morning. Bertha was pottering around in the kitchen, bellowing an off-key rendition of the latest Wyrd Sisters song. Harry was just contemplating whether hiding under his desk was (a) strategic genius or (b) unbecoming in a 30-something-year-old professional when the Floo fireplace caught his attention by spitting fluorescent purple sparks.

Harry made his way over to Cecil Hobbs, the day's Floo duty officer. Cecil, who despite his name was actually a young man of shy disposition and an as-yet unshakeable awe of Harry, was peering at the message that shot out of the sparks.

“What does it say?” asked Harry.

Cecil startled so badly that his wire framed glasses fell of the end of his nose, dangling precariously off one ear. Harry suppressed a sigh and waited for the young man to compose himself.

“S-sorry s-sir,” he stammered. “You s-startled me!”

“My apologies, Cecil,” said Harry gravely, deciding now was not the time to remind Cecil for the twelfth time that week not to call him sir. “Ahh, the note? Anything important?”

“Message from a l-lady in Clapham, sir. She’s reporting seeing a Niffler running through the local park. It’s a mixed area, lots of Muggles, so she did the right thing to report it.” Cecil looked back up from the note, his manner steadied by the execution of his duties. “The Niffler is probably back underground in its burrow by now, but I should probably go and have a look.”

“Good idea,” said Harry. “Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, no sir,” said Cecil quickly. “Or at least, I can take Charles. Nothing you need to worry about.”

Harry suppressed another sigh. The opportunity for escape dangled in front of him but he couldn’t inflict himself on this poor young chap.

“That sounds fine,” he said. Another thought occurred. “A Muggle area, you say. Do we need to notify the Office of Misinformation?”

“Not for a Niffler, sir. Muggles usually just think they are a speedy breed of hedgehog. But we should let OPSMWEC know.”

“Ops em whec?” asked Harry

“Office for the Provision of Support to the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee. The Secretariat deals with minor issues while the Committee is out of session.” He reached over and grabbed a green form from the stack on the desk next to the Floo, filling the blank spaces swiftly with surprisingly neat handwriting. “I’ll just finish this up and drop it in once I get back.”

“Give it to me and I’ll take it while you are out,” said Harry.

“Are you sure, sir?” asked Cecil. “It’s not really that urgent.”

“Cake is ready,” sang out Bertha. Harry struggled not to wince.

“On the other hand,” said Cecil slowly. “Procedure does specify that the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee be notified immediately of a level 2 breach of the Statute of Secrecy. Rules are rules, sir.” He handed Harry to completed form.

“Good man,” said Harry gratefully. “Off you go. And come in and see me when you get back. I’d like to hear more about the Niffler.”

“Very good sir,” said Cecil, practically saluting.

“Cecil, you really don’t need to call me sir,” said Harry wearily.

“Yes, sir.”

 

It took longer than Harry expected to find OPSMWEC. He roamed in circles around the third floor for 20 minutes before an irritated assistant finally took pity on him and led the way. The office was secreted in the far corner of Level 3, past the sprawl that was the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, around the overflowing filing cabinets of the Obliviators and behind a strategically placed cloak cupboard. There was no sign on the closed door, so Harry knocked while the assistant gave an irritated huff and retreated.

“Come.”

Harry opened the door and entered. Across the office, behind a neat desk, scribing quickly and neatly onto a piece of parchment, sat Draco Malfoy.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” he said distractedly, without looking up.

Harry had, of course, known that Malfoy worked in the building. When he had first joined the Aurors in the year after the Battle of Hogwarts, there had been no shortage of people to tell him what an outrage it was to have a Malfoy working at the Ministry. In the twelve years since, he had occasionally seen a white-blond head in amongst the throng of workers and vaguely wondered if it might be Malfoy. But they had rarely interacted and Harry was perfectly happy with that arrangement.

“Apologies, for the de-“ Malfoy looked up. “-lay.” He cleared his throat. “Auror Potter. How can I help you?”

“Ahh, not an Auror at the moment actually,” said Harry awkwardly. “I’m actually at the Pest Advisory Board right now.”

“Of course,” said Malfoy, a tinge of red heating his cheeks. “I had heard about your move.”

Silence reigned uncomfortably between them.

“Can I help you?” prompted Malfoy eventually.

It was Harry’s turn to blush. “Umm, yes. A sighting of a Niffler in a Muggle area.” He thrust the green form towards Malfoy. “One of my team is checking it out but I’m told you need to be informed.”

“Indeed,” said Malfoy, reaching for the form and scanning it. “I see you’ve sent Cecil Hobbs to investigate. He’s a good choice; young but thorough. Ask him to brief me if there was any Muggle involvement, will you?”

He looked up again, and seemed surprised. Harry got the impression that Malfoy had forgotten who he was talking to.

“Sure,” said Harry.

“Very well,” said Malfoy, a tad stiffly, as he placed the form in a pile of other green forms. “Thank you, Mr Potter,” he added, in a clear dismissal.

Harry grasped the out and left. And later tried not to think of it as fleeing the scene.

 

********

Harry took the next available opportunity to do some information gathering – Wednesday’s morning tea. It was Valerie’s turn to provide, a much more reliable prospect Harry was happy to note. He waited until tea had been poured, cake had been served, and comment had been made on the morning’s most risible owl – the best method for deterring flesh-eating slugs; ‘don’t they teach young people anything these days?’ – before he dropped his question.

“So, what does OPSMWEC do?”

“Oh, that’s the Office for the Provision of Secretariat to the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee. Grand title, but it’s really just one man now.”

“I remember the days when a full 12 people were needed to support the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee,” sighed Valerie, reaching for another slice of cake.

“Ahh, but it’s different nowadays. We’ve seen a great deal of change in our time, haven’t we Agatha?”

Agatha sniffed. “That young man is worth more than every member of the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee combined. Muggle-experts my foot. I know for a fact that Hubert Humphreys hasn’t set foot in the Muggle world since 1967.”

“He was so shocked by the women’s clothing that he never went back again,” tittered Mervyn. “I agree young Malfoy is a good hand. He worked his way through the ranks, you know. Joined the Office of Misinformation straight out of school, as an office boy, if I recall correctly. Kept his head down and worked hard. He was finally transferred to the Excuse Committee, four, no five years ago. I know quite a few people in OM who were sad to see him go. Quite a flair for the job apparently. A bit of a come down for a Malfoy, I always thought, though understandable I suppose after that awkward business with the War and all…” He trailed off, seeming to notice for the first time who he was talking to.

“But what does he do?” pressed Harry into the awkward silence.

“What it says in the title, young man,” said Agatha tartly. “He provides secretariat services to the Committee.”

“So, he’s a secretary.”

“No, not secretary, secretariat,” explained Anna, one of the middle-aged witch contingent who prided herself on her knowledge of Ministry processes. “He coordinates the Committee meetings. Writes the agenda papers, does the minutes, organises the meeting and so on. It’s quite an important position.”

“I th-think he’s nice,” said Cecil, unexpectedly contributing to the conversation. “He always has tea and biscuits when I go around to report creature sightings.”

“You were at school with him, weren’t you Harry?” asked Bertha, with uncharacteristic insight.

“Umm, yes. He was a bit of a tosser at school, to be honest. But I’m sure he’s much improved now,” he added hastily.

“He has,” stated Agatha majestically. She turned to Valerie. “Do you use vanilla extract or pods in this cake?”

And with that the conversation moved on, leaving Harry with more questions than answers.  

 

In what Harry could only see as atrocious timing, there was another Niffler sighting the following Monday, this time so close to lunch that only Harry and Rob, another of the younger team members, were actually in the office. Hoping desperately that Malfoy was an early luncher, Harry grabbed the green form he had seen Cecil complete.

A quarter of an hour later he was still filling it in.

"Why in Merlin's name do I need list my Zodiac sign?" he demanded of no-one in particular in sheer frustration. "How can that possibly be relevant? And why would I even know what House Jupiter is in right now?

"Jupiter rules higher learning and abstract thought," said Rob coming across to him.

"Well, I'm not sure why that is relevant but I am done," said Harry, pulling the forms back into order. Rob glanced at the pile and frowned.

"Oh no, sir," he said.

"No?" asked Harry.

"I'm afraid this is form 25-786-55 A."

"It's the green form," Harry said. "The green form Cecil filled in the other day."

"No, sir," said Rob. "That was form 25-786-55 C. This is form 25-786-55 A." He walked over the table holding the forms and picked one up. "This is the one you need, sir," he said, handing the new form to Harry.

Harry flipped through it. "It's identical to the form I just filled in," he said.

"No sir," said Rob. "See, on front it says 25-786-55 C."

"But it asked for exactly the same information," said Harry. "It even asks the stupid Zodiac question."

"Oh yes, sir," said Rob. "That's standard."

"So why can't I use the form I've already filled in?"

"It was a Niffler sighting, wasn't it sir?"

"Yes."

"Then you need form 25-786-55 C."

"Which is identical to form 25-786-55 A."

"No identical, sir," said Rob reproachfully.

"And why do I need form 25-786-55 C?"

"Well, a Niffler is classified as a level XXX creature on the Ministry of Magic Beast scale," explained Rob.

"Yes," said Harry. "I've filled that part out here."

"Well that's why you need form 25-786-55 C, sir."

Harry stared at him. "Rob, I've just spent _fifteen minutes_ filling in this form."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, sir."

Harry gave up. "I'll think I'll just risk it."

"That's very courageous of you sir," said Rob, shocked.

“I think I'll survive," said Harry and took off on the trek to level 3, documentation in hand.

His hope of dropping the form into a nearby inbox and running was speedily dashed when, upon knocking on the once again closed door, a crisp voice bade him to enter. Harry straightened his shoulders and went in.

“Potter,” said Malfoy in clipped tones. “Twice in two weeks. To what do I owe the pleasure of this fine day? Though, I have not personally verified the state of the weather. The Office for the Provision of Support to the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee (or OPSMWEC) does not rate a window, magical or otherwise. London weather in late March is notoriously unreliable – more unkind visitors from warmer climes have in fact been known to suggest to me that this is a year-round phenomenon – but I did think during my constitutional this very morning that the weather held the kind of promise that suggested gloves, scarves, beanies, cloaks and warming charms could perhaps be dispensed with at some stage in the nearish future. Though not immediately, of course. Any such promise would be a flagrant breach of every advertising and editorial standard known to wizard or Muggle."

Harry gaped at him, overwhelmed by the flood of language. It was possibly more than he had ever heard Malfoy say in one go.

"I mention this," Malfoy continued, "because in my long and, may I say, distinguished career in this august Ministry, I have established and maintained a reputation for accuracy and veracity; a reputation hard won and one which I would be loathe to see disintegrate under the weight of unfounded accusations; unfounded, unconfirmed and, if I may so, unjustified. So I would be obliged if you were to provide me with written documentation of your allegations, unsubstantiated though I have no doubt they will prove to be, in triplicate, properly notarised, so that I might provide my own statements of facts pertinent to the matter."

Malfoy stared at him challengingly.

Harry stared back. "Sorry?" he asked.

Malfoy sighed. "Have you come to check up on me?" he said bluntly.

“No!” said Harry, stung, perhaps moreso because the thought had in fact crossed his mind multiple times in the course of the week. He held out the green form. “Another Niffler sighting, actually.”

Malfoy frowned as he took the form and read it. Looking at his bent head, it occurred to Harry quite randomly that Malfoy had aged quite well since they had left school. Harry shook his head. This was no time for ogling and especially not ogling Malfoy, who, truth be told, was quite ogleable. His current haircut was certainly more flattering than the slicked back gelled look of his adolescence. Harry shook his head again and forced his mind back on topic.

“In the same area as last week,” Malfoy said, scanning the form and fortunately unaware of the general trend of Harry’s thoughts. “Who filled this in?"

“I did,” said Harry, defensively.

"You should have used form 25-786-55 C."

"So, I've been told," muttered Harry.

“Humph,” said Malfoy. “It's missing information on the closest Muggle amenities. Have your staff give you a crash course on the procedure, Potter. These details are important to record.”

“Why?” asked Harry, striving for a civil tone.

“They help shape our response to the breach,” said Malfoy, reading over the form again. “Still, no harm done. I happen to know this area, so I can fill in the blanks.” To Harry’s surprise, he reached for not a quill but a ball point pen.

“You’ll need to keep an eye on this, Potter. Niffler sightings in Muggle areas are very unusual. I can only recall half a dozen in the years I’ve been in this position. Two in two weeks might portend a larger problem.”

“Like what?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know,” admitted Malfoy, looking troubled. “That’s what worries me.”

********

The next Malfoy sighting was surprisingly not at all related to a Niffler. Harry, taking the opportunity of a quiet afternoon to do something he’d never before done in his Auror career – namely skive off early for the day – was on his way out of the Atrium later the next day, when he saw Malfoy heading towards the exit into Muggle London. Intrigued, he started to follow, but Malfoy was too far ahead and by the time Harry made it to the street he had already disappeared.

A small amount of general reconnaissance (that is, chatting to the tea ladies on the third floor, who were unanimous in their opinion that Harry needed a bit more feeding up) revealed that Malfoy, in all other respects a model employee, had a habit of leaving early every Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. Further chat with the more gossipy members of Magical Maintenance revealed that Malfoy returned to the Ministry after hours and often worked late on those evenings.

Skiving off Harry could understand; he’d quite enjoyed it himself. But returning after hours made no sense. It was a mystery and all mysteries needed solving. Especially Malfoy mysteries. And thus is was that promptly at 2:55 on Thursday afternoon, Harry found himself lurking around the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

Lurking in business robes was a new and exciting experience for Harry, whose previous experience of the Atrium had unfailingly been being mobbed by well-wishes, hands out-thrust for hearty handshakes. Without his Auror robes or trademark jeans and t-shirt, Harry was basically camouflaged. He watched in amazement as Bede Venebles – known to the unkind as the Venereal Bede, as once he latched on there was no shaking him – glided past without so much as a peep of recognition. Harry resolved that once he was returned to the Aurors, he would spend less time in his robes.

Malfoy appeared at precisely 3 pm, and strode towards the Visitor’s exit. This time Harry was ready for him, and slipped smoothly three people behind. On reaching the street level, Harry saw Malfoy’s tall blond head heading down the street and hastened to follow. Malfoy turned right, then left, the left again, before heading into the tall arches of Charing Cross station. Harry trailed after but lost him at the automatic gates after Malfoy waved a pass over the boom. Helplessly, Harry watched the top of Malfoy’s head as it disappeared down a tunnel then turned to find out how to purchase a rail pass. Next time he wouldn’t be caught short.

********

“And then, I lost him when he disappeared down a tunnel. I don’t know what he’s up to, but you have to admit, Hermione, it is suspicious.”

Hermione was frowning at him. “When I suggested you get a hobby, Harry, this is not what I had in mind.”

Harry spluttered into his tea. “It’s not a hobby!” he protested, emerging from his tea cup slightly the worse for wear. “I just think he’s up to something.”

“Draco Malfoy has been a highly functional member of the Ministry for the last twelve years, but you think he’s finally snapped and turned evil because you’ve run into him twice in two weeks.”

“Wait a minute. You knew he was in OPSMWEC!”

“Ops em whec?” interjected Ron.

“Office for the Provision of the Secretariat for the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee. Or something like that,” said Harry impatiently.

“Of course I knew,” said Hermione calmly. “I was Chair of his interview panel.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry demanded.

“Because, Harry, interviews are strictly committee-in-confidence and it was none of your business!”

“Not the interview. Why didn’t you tell me I was going to run into him again?”

“I suppose I expected that you would do a bit of due diligence before turning up at your new job!” Hermione said snarkily. She took a breath. “Look, I don’t want to pull rank-“

“What rank?” said Harry.

Ron sniggered. “She’s your boss, mate.”

Harry turned outraged eyes towards Hermione. She cracked a smile. “You’ve never even looked at the Ministry organisation chart, have you?”

Harry shook his head mutely.

“Technically, Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has responsibility for all the creature-related parts of the Ministry, including Pests Sub-Division. Now, I’m not going to order you to leave Draco Malfoy alone-“

“Good,” said Harry.

“But I will,” she continued, “If I find out you’ve been harassing him. Malfoy did his time, he’s proven himself a good public servant. Leave him be.”

“You should listen, mate. She’s very busy and important you know.”

Hermione threw a leftover bread roll at Ron’s head.

********

Hermione was going to be pretty pissed, Harry acknowledged to himself as he sauntered down the street towards the Charing Cross Station, Malfoy’s familiar blond head bobbing through the crowd in front of him. This time he’d come prepared, with Muggle street clothes and an Oyster card the helpful newsagent had assured him would give him access to London’s transport network. She’d been a bit confused by his lack of credit card and Harry made a mental note to do some research into what ‘contactless’ meant. It seemed he was going to need to get more familiar with Muggle London if Malfoy was going to be tramping through it on a regular basis.

This time, however, Malfoy didn’t enter the station. Rather, he diverted around the side and towards a busy street full of red double-decker busses. Malfoy strode along the footpath, dodging other pedestrians, forcing Harry to focus ahead instead of on his surroundings. With such intense focus, Harry couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy filled out his Muggle trousers very nicely.

Finally, Malfoy stopped in front on of one of the, as far as Harry could see, identical bus stop signs and looked down the road, nodding when he saw a bus park in front of him. Harry hung back, wondering how he was going to get on the bus without Malfoy noticing, when Malfoy turned to look at him.

“Come along, Potter. You’ll miss the bus if you don’t get moving.”

He made a mocking gesture towards the bus entrance before turning to board himself.

Harry underwent a brief but violent internal struggle between stalking away haughtily and following meekly. Eventually curiosity won and he boarded the bus, moving up the aisle to sit next to Malfoy.

“Fancy seeing you here, Potter.”

The bus ride was quiet; Malfoy staring out the window and Harry not willing to provoke scene in public. After a few minutes, Malfoy led Harry off one bus and onto another, however it wasn’t until the second bus had deposited them back onto the street that Harry broke the silence.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“East London,” replied Malfoy. “Shoreditch, to be precise.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I didn’t bring you. You came of our own accord.” He turned down the street. “Come along then.”

Harry followed again as Malfoy led him through a maze of laneways until the ended at a nondescript red brick building. Malfoy pushed through the door into a large reception area. Walls, counter, sofas and coffee table were pure white; the only colour was the shock of brightly coloured flowers in the white vase on the reception counter. Harry was uncomfortably aware that this room would probably be considered extremely trendy by people who knew about such things.

“Afternoon, Anita,” Malfoy greeted the young lady behind the desk.

“Hiya Draco!” she said cheerfully. She pulled out a rectangular metal box and put it on the counter. “Here you go,” she said as she opened the lid. Harry’s watched in astonishment as Malfoy fished out his wand and deposited it into the box.

“You too, Potter,” he said.

“You want me to put my wand in the box?” clarified Harry, not quite believing it.

“Yes,” said Malfoy, without a trace of the condescension Harry was expecting. “Some of the equipment is delicate and magic plays merry hell with the circuit boards.”

Harry was so unnerved by the whole situation that he handed his wand over without a fuss. He followed Malfoy up a narrow spiral staircase into an open, light filled room. Around the room were workstations with multiple flat screens glowing brightly. A gentle mechanical hum filled the room. Young people stared intently at the screens, some typing furiously, while others pressed jiggled large plastic blobs while moving them randomly around the desktop. On the far side was a small kitchenette with a sink, refrigerator and the largest jar of coffee Harry had ever seen.

“Welcome to the Office of Digital Miscommunication,” said Malfoy from beside him.

“Are those computers?” Harry asked.

Malfoy sounded offended. “Of course they are computers. State of the art actually. We also have an electronic whiteboard, digital projector, Skype and videocomms facilities in our meeting room.” He pointed to a glass walled room beside them.

Harry looked around. “Malfoy, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about. The last time I saw a computer was my cousin’s and the screen alone was so heavy you could use it to crush a large watermelon. Nothing like these. What do they do?”

“Let me introduce you to the head of our surveillance team,” Malfoy said, motioning towards a young women, who moved towards them. “Peta Walker, this is Harry Potter, the man I was telling you about.”

Harry watched but her eyes didn’t do the telltale flick towards his scar. Instead she smiled pleasantly and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said.

“And you,” said Harry, shaking her hand. “This is quite a set up you have here.”

“Oh, Draco’s the one who set us up, really. I manage the surveillance portion of the program. John, who isn’t in today, manages the miscommunication team and Sandra – over there with the purple shirt – is our web design guru.”

“Potter was just asking what it is that we do,” Malfoy interjected.  

“Basically, we monitor the internet for breaches of the Statutes of Secrecy,” said Peta. “We’ve set up set up a range of detection programs that scan the web for keywords and particular activity. We mostly concentrate on Britain, but we do keep an eye out for international sites that might be problematic. No country borders on the World Wide Web, unfortunately!”

“Sorry,” said Harry. “Can I take you back a bit? What’s the ‘internet’?”

“Ahh,” said Malfoy, while Peta stared at him in horror. “It appears I overestimated your technical knowledge. This might take longer than I thought.” He turned to Peta. “Is anyone using the conference room this afternoon?”

“I’ll check,” said Peta. She moved over to a small screen on the wall next to the conference room door. “No, completely free. I’ll bring you some coffee, shall I?”

“That would be lovely, thanks,” said Malfoy. He turned back to Harry. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Err, tea if you have it,” Harry answered. Peta nodded and headed towards the kitchenette.

“This way, Potter,” commanded Malfoy.

Harry followed Malfoy into the conference room. “It feels a bit like being inside a giant fishbowl,” he commented lightly. Malfoy reached over to the wall and pressed another button. Immediately the glass became frosted.

“Is that better?” he asked.

“Umm, much,” said Harry, unnerved again. "How did you do that?"

"Muggle magic," replied Malfoy, deadpan. Harry rolled his eyes. Strangely, Malfoy being a prat settled him. It was a reassuring constant in an extremely odd environment.

“Here you go,” announced Peta, coming through the door and depositing two steaming cups on the table. “I’ll leave you to it but ping if you need anything.” She left, closing the door gently behind her.  

“Malfoy, what on earth is this place?” demanded Harry. “I’ve never heard of the Office of Digital Miscommunication.”

“That’s not entirely surprising,” said Malfoy calmly. “You’d never heard of OPSMWEC two week ago either.”

Harry glowered at him as Malfoy leaned back in his chair, sipping his coffee. “Where to begin,” he mused.

“The internet is…Well it is probably best described as a group of connected computers all talking to each other in the same computer language. Except that group of computers is very large and exists all over the world. It’s also called the World Wide Web, which is probably an easier description to visualise actually. People put information on special computers, called servers, and then they allow other people to see that information. As long as you know where to look – the ‘address’ of the website – you can find the information. There are also a range of search engines to help you find information.” Malfoy looked at Harry. “I’ve lost you again, haven’t I?”

Harry nodded sheepishly.

“It’s a bit like a giant encyclopaedia, but with less quality control,” Malfoy said. He sat forward again. “The internet is everywhere. It’s a completely different world to the one you grew up with, Potter.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” muttered Harry.

Malfoy drew a small bag out of his pocket a removed a rectangular device. “This is a smart phone. Muggles carry in their pockets a device that can access the sum total of human knowledge.” Malfoy paused. “Of course, they mostly use it for watching cat videos.”

“Cat videos?” Harry asked weakly.

“And porn,” added Malfoy.

“Porn.”

“Indeed, Potter. Porn.”

Harry paused to let his brain adjust to this information and it adjusted to a truly terrible place. A look of horror crossed his face.

“Wait, cat porn?”

“No, not cat por… actually maybe cat porn,” Malfoy said reflectively. “I don’t know. But there’s a rule, Rule 69 of the internet: if it exists, there is porn of it. So, yes, probably cat porn.”

Malfoy watched with a certain glint of glee in his eyes as Harry blinked, attempted to focus his thoughts and gave up. He wasn’t entirely sure how, but the conversation had clearly gotten away from him.

“So, there’s this internet and you look at it to find out what people are saying?” he asked in an attempt to wrestle back the conversation. “But why?”

“Very good, Potter,” said Malfoy. “You have to understand that the internet is the primary method of communication in the Muggle world now. Muggles don’t send letters, they send email. Electronic mail,” he added. “Most newspapers are now online as well as being printed. You can read books electronically, watch television programs and movies online. Most information shared by Muggles is shared through the internet. So if we want to know what they are saying about the Wizarding world, the internet is where to look. It’s also a great place to hide. Which is where our digital miscommunication team comes in.” He reached forward and pressed a button in the middle of the table making the large screen at the end of the room spring to life. Pulling a keyboard towards him, he typed quickly.

“There are all sorts of sites on the internet,” he started. “Some more reputable than others. When we find breaches of the statute, we make them look as though they come from the disreputable sites, and then most Muggles don’t believe them. You wouldn’t believe what kinds of things we can hide on here…”

********

Harry hadn’t seen Hermione so furious since they were on the run from Voldemort.

“I explicitly told you not to!” she said, pointing a finger at Harry’s chest.

“No, you did,” said Harry, aware that he was waving a red rag in front of an already enraged bull, but deciding to do it anyway. “You said you didn’t want to have to tell me not to.”

Hermione growled at him and Harry took a small precautionary step backwards.

“He would be well within his rights to complain. To me, to the Auror Office, to the Minister. And if he does you can kiss your promotion good-bye. You’ll be lucky to be allowed back into the Aurors. You know Versay is gunning for you.”

“He’s not going to complain, Hermione –”

“You’d better hope not!”

“Look,” said Harry, starting to lose his own temper. “Do you want to know what I found out or not?”

“I do,” interjected Ron into the strained silence. Hermione glared at him but didn’t say anything. Ron ran his hand gently up her arm.

“Do you know what the internet is?” Harry started.

“Of course, I know what the internet is!” Hermione snapped.

Harry turned his eyes to Ron. “Hermione’s parents got broadband a few years ago. They introduced me MMOGs but I couldn’t get the computer to work here.” He brightened. “I wonder if Malfoy knows how to get it to work?”

“Mogs?” Harry asked.

“Massive Multiplayer Online Games. There are some awesome ones. You can fight all sorts of battles.”

“What about the internet?” said Hermione, her posture starting to soften ever so slightly.

“Well, according to Malfoy, whenever there is a breach of the Statute of Secrecy, they post something about it online but on some crackpot website to discredit the story.”

“Clever,” said Ron approvingly.

“So the team runs a series of conspiracy theory websites where they post random things about aliens and mind control.” Harry started to grin. It really was quite funny. “He’s particularly proud of the crop circles.”

“But two men confessed to the crop circle hoax,” said Hermione, clearly becoming interested despite herself.

“Squibs,” said Harry. “Farmer paid to confess; they are quite enjoying themselves apparently. The original circles were made by a bunch of kids larking around in the school holidays. It’s been a phenomenally useful excuse, Sandra says.”

“Sandra?” asked Ron.

“The web person. She designs the websites. She took me through a few and even to me they looked suitably shady."

“It really is quite clever,” said Hermione, unfolding her arms and resting them on the table. Harry watched as Ron ran a comforting thumb over her wrist. “Discredit rather than hide. I wonder where he got the idea?”

“Some Muggle proverb I think. He said the best way to hide a red fish is in a pool of other red fish.”

Hermione smiled. “I’ll remember that!”

Harry thought he might be forgiven. But he was careful to avoid Hermione in the Ministry corridors on Monday all the same.

********

Harry was back at OPSMWEC the following Tuesday afternoon. Knocking briefly on the door, he pushed it open.

"Why is your office so difficult to get to? It's behind a cloak cupboard, for crying out loud," he complained as he walked through the door... and was confronted by a half-naked Malfoy. He gaped uncomprehendingly at the surprisingly muscled chest on display.

“Just a moment, Potter,” said Malfoy, remarkably composed. Harry recalled himself and turned to face the still open door.

“Err, sorry!” he said, face flushing with embarrassment. He heard the rustle of fabric and tried not to imagine soft cotton travelling over pale skin.

“You caught me changing into Muggle clothes. Obviously.”

“Yes, obviously,” repeated Harry weakly. “Um, sorry again.” He stared hard at the door wondering if he should close it but afraid to move.

"I put it there myself," said Malfoy.

"Huh?" said Harry.

"The cloak cupboard. I wanted to ensure only the most directionally challenged wizard could accidentally wander past my office so I made sure of it in the last Level 3 office reorganisation. In my experience, the easier one is to find, the more likely one is to be inveigled into attending some atrocious social bonding task. Last year I wasn't even been invited to the 347th Annual Friends of the Ministry Family Fun Day because the memo couldn’t find my office. Plausible deniability is its own corporate camouflage."

"Right," said Harry, faintly, his mind still filled with images of smooth muscles.

“It’s safe to turn around now, Potter.” Malfoy sounded amused and Harry flushed again.

“You wanted to see me?”

Harry forced his mind back to the form at hand. “We’ve had another Niffler sighting,” he said.

“Same area?” Malfoy asked. Harry nodded.

“Three in the same area can’t be a coincidence. Have you looked into the Magical families in the area. No-one been stupid enough to think Nifflers are cute and might make a good pet?”

Harry shook his head. “I asked a few of the guys in the creatures office. Nifflers are classified as a level three creature but because they are so destructive they require a permit to own or breed. No-one in the area has a permit. And it only seems to turn up once a week. You’d expect far greater damage reports if it lived in the area.” He shook his head. “For some reason it comes in once a week to frolic on Clapham Common. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“We’ll keep an eye on the normal news sources and see if we find anything.” He hesitated. “I was about to head out to the ODM. You could come with me if you like. Have a chat to the team and see if they have any insights.”

“Really?” asked Harry in surprise.

“Yes,” said Malfoy. “I think it is probably time to let bygones be bygones, don’t you? We are Ministry colleagues, after all.” This last had a hint of tentativeness in the tone, as though Malfoy were scared of the reply.

Harry smiled. “So we are.” He held out his hand. “Harry Potter, Head of the Pest Advisory Board.”

Malfoy smiled back. “Draco Malfoy,” he replied, shaking Harry’s hand firmly. “Office for the Provision of the Secretariat for the Muggle Worthy Excuse Committee. Pleased to meet you, Mr Potter.”

“Harry,” said Harry impulsively.

“Draco.”

They let go. “Hermione thinks I should apologise to you,” Harry blurted.

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow. “Do you always do what Mrs Weasley suggests?” he asked.

“Granger,” said Harry.

Malfoy looked startled. “I knew she used Granger at work, but I assumed she took Weasley when she got married,” he said.

“Hermione is an only child, so Ron took her name when they married. He said there were plenty of Weasleys in the world and the Granger name shouldn’t be lost to the Wizarding World.”

Malfoy’s face did a complicated dance. “And how did that go at home?” he asked impulsively.

“Not well in the beginning, but Molly came around in the end. Arthur seems to think it’s a quaint Muggle custom.” Harry grinned. “Of course, Ron’s brothers are doing their bit to populate the world with many mini-Weasleys.”

“Right,” said Malfoy, a tad nonplussed. “Well, do you always do what Mrs Granger suggests?”

“Ms. And usually,” Harry admitted. “She tends to be right.”

Malfoy smiled again, lighting up his eyes. It occurred to Harry that he had never seen Malfoy smile naturally before. “That she does,” he agreed. He pointed to the door. “Shall we go?”

Harry whipped off his business robes, glad that he had once again thrown on jeans and a t-shirt underneath. “Lead the way,” he gestured.

They chatted amiably about Ministry gossip on the way to the bus station. Malfoy, it turned out, had extremely good sources.

“It’s the Secretariat position,” he admitted as they boarded the bus. “You wouldn’t believe the negotiations to get access to the Minister’s boardroom for the meetings. It pays to stay on the good side of the executive assistants. “

“Why use the boardroom?” asked Harry. “There are plenty of other meeting rooms.”

“The Chair’s is quite particular. That is the only meeting room that will satisfy. I think he likes sitting at the head of the table and pretending he is the Minister. He’s 97; these meetings are what he lives for. I should probably count myself lucky he’s so easy to please.”

Harry had a flash of insight. “Is that how you set up the ODM? Dazzled them with the flashy boardroom and set up a brand new office out the back?”

“It’s completely legal,” said Malfoy primly. “The Committee signed off on everything and I provide a quarterly report to every meeting. They are free to seek clarification on any points on which they are unsure.” He abandoned his prissy manner “I had to do something, Potter. They know nothing about the Muggle world. One of them visited Spalding during the Summer of Love and was so appalled he hasn’t been back since.”

“Hubert Humphries,” Harry nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

“The last time any of them was in the Muggle world was 1982, celebrating You-Know-Who’s downfall. The world has moved on since then.”

“I don’t disagree,” said Harry, smiling. “Aurors tend to take a more pragmatic approach to Ministry policy than the line areas. But how do you pay for it? The operation I saw last week can’t come cheap.” A disturbing thought occurred to him. “You’re not funding it yourself are you?”

“No. When I joined the Secretariat there were three staff members, but the Office was being paid as though there were still twelve. They’d built up quite a tidy nest egg over time. I used some of it for seed funding for the infrastructure and the rest to hire staff. At the current rate of expenditure, I’ll have used up the savings sometime in 2023. But I’m thinking of converting the ground floor into an internet café to help pay the wages.”

Harry found he was brimming with questions now that Malfoy was willing to talk. As they stepped onto the second bus, he continued.

“Where do you get the staff from?”

“Muggles mainly. A few squibs with progressive parents who had them educated in Muggle schools, a couple of Hogwarts graduates who think magic is fine but would rather live in the 21st century.” Harry snorted. “But mainly Muggles who have magical family members, so they already know about the Wizarding World. I have one lady whose son is at Hogwarts now. She told me she’ll never be able to protect him from magical threats, but she can at least help protect his world. I think most of them feel that way, even the ones too young to remember the War. They know the danger the Wizarding world could be in if it was revealed and their family members would be right there in the firing line. 

Harry sighed. “Well, that’s only too true. And too few Aurors to protect them, even if we could. Who knows if magic could even stop Muggle weaponry?”

“I know how to disable a hand gun,” offered Malfoy.

“What?” exclaimed Harry, genuinely shocked.

“If you spend enough time on the internet, you learn all sorts of things,” said Malfoy, smiling. “There was a video showing how to disassemble a revolver. I thought if it could be done by hand, it could probably be done by magic. It took me a while, but I managed eventually.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “The secret is not to stop the bullet; it’s to prevent the gun from firing in the first place.”

“I can’t believe you taught yourself to disable a gun,” Harry said. Malfoy was still leaning forward and Harry could feel his body heat. He smelled fresh, some fruit perhaps, tangy but not lemon. Harry leaned forward himself to get a better whiff. “Grapefruit,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” asked Malfoy.

Harry flushed. “Sorry. Never mind. Why in Merlin’s name were you looking at gun videos in the first place?”

“I really can’t remember,” said Malfoy. “The internet is like that. You start searching for something totally innocuous and before you know it, four hours has passed and you’ve got 20 tabs open ranging from backyard target shooting to Nigella’s favourite recipe for mango cheesecake. It’s a strange place.”

“Nigella?”

“Nigella Lawson. She’s a well-known Muggle chef. Frankly I’m surprised that she’s not a witch. The things that woman can do with chocolate are amazing.”

Harry shook his head. This conversation was becoming distinctly surreal. “It’s sounds as though this internet can be a real time-waster.”

“It can,” admitted Malfoy. “But an opportunity to expand knowledge and understanding is never really a waste, don’t you think?”

“You and Hermione are exactly alike,” said Harry.

Malfoy looked distinctly pleased. “Do you think so?” he asked, his cheeks flushing a delicate pink.

Harry was unexpectedly charmed. “Yes. I never saw it before, but you have very similar minds.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing you have ever said to me,” said Malfoy, smiling openly. Harry found himself forced to smile back.

“Come on,” said Malfoy, shuffling over in his seat to stand up. “This is our stop.”

Harry followed Malfoy silently to the office building, his thoughts in a whirl. For his part, Malfoy seemed content to keep to his own thoughts. It wasn’t until they’d handed their wands over to Anita and started up the spiral staircase that he spoke.

“Draco,” he said.

Malfoy turned around questioningly.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry.

Malfoy’s smile was brilliant.

********

The Niffler sightings were starting to increase to two, sometime three times a week, though it had always vanished by the time Harry’s team turned up to investigate. It was clearly enjoying Clapham Commons, even in the neighbours were not enjoying having it visit. Mrs Macready, the very first complainant, was responsible for five separate reports and had taken to sending her letters with a distinctly disapproving tone.

Harry found his frustration was tempered by the opportunity to spend time with Malfoy. He went to visit the ODM several more times, meeting John and the rest of the team. And if he could only understand one in three words they spoke, he found it fascinating just to watch Malfoy interact with his team.

In a signal he was finally forgiven, Hermione turned up at his doorway one day and demanded he take her to meet “this new, improved Malfoy”. Harry watched in some amusement as the two of them verbally circled each other until Malfoy made an approving comment on the concept and execution of Muggle primary education, a system he thought was sorely lacking in the Wizarding world. From there they canvassed the importance of studying the arts (Malfoy being a surprisingly passionate advocate for musical education), the lack of rational thinking in the Wizarding and Muggle populace, and the appalling lack of women in positions of power in either world. Harry settled back in his chair and wished he thought to bring a cup of tea as Malfoy walked an enthralled Hermione through the principles of the Muggle day care system and his own offer of child care subsidies to ODM staff to encourage their continued participation in the workforce. A powerful friendship was born, and the Ministry of Magic had a fully staffed and funded onsite crèche within a year.

For his own part, Harry was under no illusions; his own feelings were distinctly more than friendship. He had long since come to terms with his own equal opportunity approach to partners. He didn’t think he’d been intrigued by someone the way he was by Draco in a long time. And there was no denying that he was a very attractive man. Somewhere in the last decade he had filled out and lost the malnourished look of their adolescence. But physical charms aside, Harry found it was Draco himself drawing him in. He had not previously dated close work colleagues, having had a strict No Auror policy and he was surprised at how appealing Draco's sheer competence was. The flashes of brilliance he showed, his torturous but oh-so-entertaining use of language, the depth of his knowledge should not be as captivating as they were, Harry thought, but somehow they were.

The 'no dating work colleagues' had served Harry well in that past. But continuing to abide by it meant that he needed to solve this Niffler mystery, because asking Draco on a date was rapidly becoming non-negotiable. As Harry, once again visiting the ODM, stood next to Draco as he described the latest Niffler sighting to Peta, he felt a surge of frustration so fierce is was a physical force.

They were interrupted by Bethany, a tall young woman with a shock of bubblegum pink hair that reminded Harry irresistibly of Tonks.

"Where did you say the Niffler was reported?" she asked, one ear piece hanging out of her ear.

"Narbonne Avenue," said Harry.

"There's just been a break-in reported to the police for 34 Narbonne Avenue. The place was trashed, according to the report."

"How do you know?"

"Digital frequency scanner and a link to the metropolitan police database," Bethany said, pointing to her ear piece.

Harry looked at Draco who shrugged. "It's not a crime in the Wizarding world," he said.

"It could just be a coincidence but might be worth checking out," said Harry, willing to overlook a potential Muggle misdemeanour. "I've got the other dates and addresses back at the office. I'll need to send a message back."

"No need," said Draco. "I have them logged in the incident management system. Bethany, search for incidents tagged Niffler underscore S G."

"SG?" asked Harry quietly.

Draco blushed. "Scrawny Git," he admitted. "I wasn't feeling very charitable after the first time you tried to follow me."

"I never did ask," said Harry. "Why did you go into the Tube station that first time."

"I knew you wouldn't be able to get through the barriers and I wanted to piss you off," said Draco with an engaging grin. "I had to walk an extra twenty minutes to get here because I caught the train not the bus."

"Serves you right," said Harry, nudging his shoulder and grinning back.

"Right, got them," announced Bethany.

Draco turned towards her. "Throw it up on the screen," he said.

On the opposite wall a large white rectangle started to glow. It resolved into a map covered with red and green dots.

"Is that Clapham Common?" Harry asked, moving closer.

"Yes," said Bethany. "It's from Google maps but it's accurate enough for our purposes." She pointed a lipstick shaped device at the screen and a red dot appeared.

"That's a laser pointer," whispered Draco.

"Yes, I know," whispered back Harry. "I'm not a total technology novice; my teacher had one when I was in Year 5."

"The red dots are reports of Niffler sightings, the green dots are police reports of break-ins. They all have a similar MO. The place was trashed and jewellery, silverware, anything shiny pinched but they left the electronics."

"Is that unusual?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, it's way easier to fence the electronics," declared Bethany. Aware they were all looking at her, she shrugged. "What? I'm interested in real crime. Now watch."

Short lines appeared joining red dots to a green dots. "These are reports that happened on the same day." She looked at Harry. "There are too many to be a coincidence."

"I agree," said Harry. "Someone has trained up a Niffler to break into Muggle houses, though how they are getting the Niffler to hand over the loot is anyone's guess."

"So we know how and why, but who?" asked Draco.

"It must be someone who lives close," piped up John. "Nifflers don't like to apparate." All heads swivelled towards him and he blushed. "I did Care of Magical Creatures for my NEWTS" he said.

"How did you end up in Digital Miscommunication?" asked Bethany.

John shrugged. "I did a summer at Charlie Weasley's dragon reserve and decided I valued my skin too highly. Literally."

"Stiffy Williams," exclaimed Harry.

"What?" asked Draco.

"I know who it is. Stiffy Williams. He has a history. I must have picked him up half a dozen times as an Auror. He likes to work in the Muggle world; he thinks he's less likely to get caught that way. Once he tried to convince a group of gnomes to hijack a bank truck."

"Did it work?" asked Draco.

"No, they moved into his garden and refused to leave. He was living with his mother at the time and she raised merry hell."

"What's his real name?" asked Bethany, staring at her screen.

"You won't find him," said Harry. "He's pure blood, won't be on any systems."

"You'd be surprised," said John. "Wizards leave more of a digital footprint than you would think."

"Winston," said Harry.

"Really?" asked Draco. "Where did 'Stiffy' come from?"

"You really don't want to know," said Harry.

"Okay, found him," announced Bethany. "Winston Williams, 29 Culmstock Rd, Clapham." She pointed to a picture on the screen. "Is that him?" she asked.

Harry peered at the screen. "Yes," he said, surprised. A wave of hope mingled with excitement was rising in his chest. "That's him!"

"You did it," said Draco. Harry turned to look at him; he was smiling wistfully. "You solved the case."

"We did it," said Harry. "I couldn't have done it without you." Impulsively, he reached forward and hugged Draco. "Thank you," he whispered into Draco's ear.

When he pulled away, Draco was staring at him with a curiously blank look on his usually mobile face. Anxiety had just began to bloom in Harry's chest as he dropped hands, when Draco suddenly leaned forward and kissed him.

After ten years of mostly single life, Harry considered himself a connoisseur of first kisses. There were shy pecks and gentle invitations for more. He'd had deep dives into the field of tonsil hockey and kisses that were less a battle for dominance than a declaration of all out war. This kiss was none of those things. This kiss was perfect. It was gentle, subtle, persuasive and intoxicating and Harry was falling head first.

 _One kiss to rule them all_ , he thought vaguely. Then Draco tilted his head slightly and all rational thought fled.

Some time later, Harry was forced to come up for air and realised that the dull background noise was actually cheering. Draco looked as dazed as Harry felt, a faint tinge of colour staining his cheeks as he looked around at the mass of people applauding.

"About time," Peta declared, while Bethany hollered her support wordlessly.

Draco looked back at Harry, a wide, genuine smile on his face. "Well, then," he said.

"Well," said Harry smiling back. "I'd better go and arrest the bad guy then we can pick up where we left off."

Draco's eyebrows drew together in an attempt to frown, though the smile was too bright to be dislodge.

"Ah, Harry, you do remember that you are no longer an Auror."

"Once an Auror, always an Auror," declared Harry. "Besides, they forgot to take my badge away from me when they transferred me." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "Versay is going to be pretty pissed when my name appears in the monthly crime stats," he said with some satisfaction.

 "Shouldn't you alert the Auror Office to do it?"

"If I do that we'll have to spend the next six hours documenting the case in Interview Room Three and frankly, that's not what I want to be doing with my evening," said Harry, taking Draco's hand and threading their fingers together.

Draco's eyes glazed over slightly. "I do see your point," he said, running his thumb softly over the back of Harry's hand.

"Get a room," Bethany muttered.

Harry forced his own mind to concentrate. "Bad guy, then my place?" he suggested.

"Done," said Draco. He leaned forward and whispered into Harry's ear. "You won't believe some of the things I discovered how to do on the internet. It'll rock your world."

It did.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/134456.html). .


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